


Choose Your Faces Wisely

by owls4ever



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agnes Nutter's Prophecies, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Body Swap, Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Deleted Scenes, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owls4ever/pseuds/owls4ever
Summary: After Armageddon fails to happen, Aziraphale and Crowley go back to Crowley's flat. They realize that maybe Agnes Nutter's last prophecy is talking about them and plan how to trick both Heaven and Hell.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Choose Your Faces Wisely

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a disclaimer, I am American. If phrases sound weird or anything, it's probably because of that. Please feel free to comment any improvements, corrections, or suggestions. I tried to Google some things, but Google is no substitute for human knowledge. I do hope you still enjoy it!

_When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre._

After Armageddon fails to happen, Aziraphale and Crowley get on the bus back to London. They choose a seat together, Aziraphale on the window and Crowley on the aisle. Crowley promptly stretches out his long legs and tips his head back.

“It’s not a short journey, angel,” he mutters after a minute or two.

“Huh? Oh,” Aziraphale replies, realizing he’s been staring. “Right, then. Erm, I’ll just… doze.”

Crowley nods, snuffles a little, and wiggles his head in that way people do when they’re trying to sleep in a not particularly comfortable place. Aziraphale realizes he’s staring again and drags his gaze to look out at the countryside. It is, rather predictably, quite boring. There isn’t much in the way of artificial light, and all Aziraphale can really see is less _seeing_ and more the impression of dark hills rolling away.

Before he knows it, he’s staring at Crowley again, watching every little twitch of the demon’s eyebrows. Yanking his gaze away again, Aziraphale tries to make himself comfortable.  
_We’re going to his flat. That’s not that exciting. Loads of people go over to each other’s flats all the time._

He purses his lips. _Yes, but Crowley’s always come over to the bookstore. We never meet up at his place._ Aziraphale frowns. He’s pretty sure it’s not a good sign that his internal devil’s advocate is voiced by Crowley.

 _Then again, who better?_ he thinks. _But off topic. He invited me over today. For the first time ever. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his home; he’s always come to meet me._

Crowley snuffles quietly (and adorably!) in his seat before leaning over to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel freezes. He worries if he moves too much, Crowley will be dislodged and wake up. Aziraphale definitely doesn’t want that. He wants Crowley comfortably using him as a pillow for as long as possible, preferably even the rest of the ride. However, he isn’t really sure how long the bus has been driving for, much less how much longer they’ll have. His sense of time has always been a bit screwy, but now he has no sense of scale either. It feels like it’s been hours, but also like it’s been only a few seconds.

Huffing, Aziraphale tries his best to get comfortable with his head on the window. It’s hard and he’s pretty sure his hair is going to end up squashed flat on one side, but at least it’ll pass the time. His other option is to watch Crowley sleep. _That does seem a traditional angel activity_ , he muses, _guardian angels and all that. But he’s a demon. What if he wakes up under angel scrutiny? What if he wakes up to me watching him and thinks I’m creepy?_

Sighing Aziraphale closes his eyes. _Best not to risk it_ , he decides. _At least I’ve learned to nap in the last few millennia_. It isn’t long before Aziraphale is also snoozing gently.

\---

Crowley wakes up with his head squished between Aziraphale’s shoulder and head. Which isn’t that bad a place to be, except the bus seats don’t really offer the room to spread out that such a position needs, so he’s rather cramped.

As he’s trying to figure out the best way to gently dislodge himself from Aziraphale, straighten up, and also maintain maximum contact at all times, the bus rolls to a stop. Crowley looks around Aziraphale and can see the bench that marks the station just a few streets away from his flat.

“Angel,” he murmurs, gently shaking Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Angel, wake up, we’re here.”

Aziraphale wakes up with a jolt and looks around. “Huh? Oh,” he yawns, running a hand through his hair.

Crowley decides not to comment on the fact that his hair is now poking every which way. He looks less like his usual haloed self and more like a teenager with a penchant for cowlicks. “Come on, angel, let’s get off the bus,” he says, pointedly ignoring the fact that he rather sounds like he’s cooing. “Just a few streets over to my flat,” he adds.

Crowley finds himself with his hand tucked around a sleepy Aziraphale’s elbow as he guides him off the bus and toward his flat. Even half-asleep, the angel still manages to thank the driver. Crowley, of course, doesn’t bother.

Crowley spends the short walk to his flat alternating between thinking, _Is this what mortals feel the first time they invite a date over?_ and _But he isn’t a date, just my best friend… that I’ve loved for millennia…_

When they finally get to his flat, Crowley can’t quite suppress his shiver. _This is the first time he’s been over_ , he thinks. _What if he disapproves of the decor? It’s much darker and colder than the bookstore…_ As Crowley hangs up his and Aziraphale’s coats, the angel wanders off.

“Crowley, dear, your plants are so lovely!” Aziraphale calls from, presumably, the plant room. “You really must teach me how you grow plants so beautifully.”

Crowley winces. _You better be gorgeous, spot-free, and greener than anything else on God’s Earth_ , he silently orders the plants as he makes his way towards Aziraphale.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such gorgeous flowers before,” Aziraphale adds as Crowley appears. “Why weren’t you the gardener for the Dowlings? I’m sure you would’ve done a better job than me.” The angel is gently stroking one of the ferns’ fronds and smiling at it. All of Crowley’s plants seem to be leaning ever-so-slightly toward the angel. Crowley can’t really blame them; it’s like Aziraphale is a gravity well Crowley can’t help but be pulled toward at all times.

“Because you’re the angel,” Crowley replies. “I was much better at corrupting the kid inside, thank you very much.” Crowley reaches for his spray bottle. He makes his way around the room, spraying each plant as he goes. “And of course they’re gorgeous. They know the consequences if they aren’t. Don’t you?” he asks the room at large. Instantly, all the plants straighten up a bit, their wilty and droopy leaves straightening, their leaves spreading wide.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, looking slightly disappointed. Crowley swears his heart seizes at the angel’s expression. “Don’t tell me you bully these poor plants. They deserve love and affection.” Aziraphale smiles around at the room and reaches out to gently touch the spider plant nearest him. He smiles beatifically before yawning suddenly. “I do believe that it is getting quite late. Do you have a guest room I could stay in for the night?”

Crowley blanches. He hadn’t quite considered the fact that taking his… taking Aziraphale to his one-bed flat would necessitate sharing the bed. “Well, not as such, no. But it’ll be fine, I’ll get you situated and I'll just sleep on the floor,” he adds hastily.

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “What? Of course not! We’ll just have to share. I will not have you sleeping on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed standing right there.” Aziraphale points at Crowley’s bed. Somehow, the two have made their way down the short hallway and into Crowley's bedroom. He wouldn't put it past the angel to have miracled them both there.

 _It is plenty big enough for two people_ , Crowley concedes silently. Tiredly, Crowley sighs. “Fine.” They get in bed and Crowley flicks his fingers to turn off the light. Quietly, he murmurs, “Good night, my love. Sleep tight.” Crowley lets himself drift into the warm embrace of sleep.

\---

Aziraphale lies in Crowley’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’s fairly confident Crowley is asleep; at some point the demon had rolled over and thrown an arm over Aziraphale’s middle. _Who knew?_ Aziraphale thinks somewhat hysterically. _The scary demon is actually a cuddler!_ However, it isn’t Crowley’s cuddling tendencies that are keeping Aziraphale up. It’s what Crowley said, just before falling asleep, that is running on repeat through Aziraphale’s mind.

‘Night, my love. Sleep tight.’

Again and again and again. Aziraphale had thought that Crowley called him ‘angel’ as an alternative to ‘you’ or ‘Aziraphale’. But what if he means it as an endearment, the same way Aziraphale catches himself calling Crowley ‘darling’ and ‘my dear’?

“What is it, angel?” Crowley asks sleepily. “You’ve gone all tense. My bed can’t be that bad, surely?” he teases.

Aziraphale screws his eyes up. _Might as well ask_ , he thinks. “Crowley? Did you mean what you said?”

“Mm?” Crowley shifts a little. “Probably not. I’m a demon, we’re known to lie.”

Aziraphale’s heart sinks, but he pushes on. “You called me ‘my love’. Did you mean it?”

Aziraphale can feel Crowley freeze behind him before the demon pulls away a little bit. There are a few beats of silence before Crowley nervously asks, “Do you want me to mean it, angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathes. Now he’s the one who’s frozen.

Crowley sighs but plasters himself up along Aziraphale’s back. “I have loved you since the day you shielded me from the rain in the Garden.” He nuzzles his nose into Aziraphale’s neck. “I didn’t mean to say it; it just slipped out. But I do mean it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, a little shocked. “I don’t know how long I’ve loved you,” he muses. “We’ve known each other an awfully long time.”

“Mm.” There’s a gentle silence for a beat or two before Crowley jumps. “Wait. Say that again.”

“Hmm? Say what again?” Aziraphale can’t quite keep the smile out of his voice.

“You love me?” Crowley asks quietly.

“I love you,” Aziraphale affirms.

“Oh. That’s good, then,” Crowley murmurs faintly.

Aziraphale lets himself relax back into Crowley’s embrace. It’s quite nice, being cuddled. He doesn’t think he’s ever allowed himself the luxury before. If the way the demon tightens his arms is any indication, Crowley’s never allowed himself to cuddle with someone before, either.

“Sleep, angel,” Crowley murmurs. “I can hear you thinking. For now, just sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

Aziraphale does as he is told and lets himself sink into sleep.

\---

When Crowley wakes up, it is to an armful of sleeping Aziraphale. The angel's head is pillowed just under Crowley’s chin, and he has grabbed onto Crowley’s arm. Crowley can’t help but love the way they fit together so easily. _Maybe we can do this more often_ , he thinks as he watches the sun rise. _Although, if the bookstore is fixed, maybe he won’t ever come back. He’ll stay in his bookstore and I’ll stay here. There will be no more cuddling, no more sleepy nights spent tangled up together, no more nights where we talk for hours._ Crowley shakes his head slightly to dislodge the thought. _No! He loves me, and I love him. We’ll work something out._

“Good morning, my dear,” Aziraphale yawns. He turns over in Crowley’s arms and smiles up at the demon. “We should do this more often,” he adds, his eyes crinkling with happiness. “I do believe this is the best night I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah?” asks Crowley, still not quite able to believe Aziraphale loves him. What kind of angel falls for a demon? _Hmm, maybe not the best metaphor…_ Crowley thinks.

“Yes.” Aziraphale snuggles down into Crowley’s chest and makes a little happy noise. “We should just stay here all day.”

“Mm, that would be nice,” Crowley agrees. He never understood why humans liked to touch each other so much until he found himself desperate for the slightest touch from Aziraphale. Even a walk arm in arm could make him happy. A whole day of lazy cuddling? _Sounds almost too good to be true_ , he worries internally.

Sure enough, Aziraphale suddenly bolts upright. “I have to get my coat! Stay here,” he adds. And then, suddenly, Crowley’s vision is obscured by a cloud of angel hair as Aziraphale leans in and gives Crowley a gentle peck on the cheek. Before Crowley can do much more than gape at him, Aziraphale has disappeared from the bedroom.

Within seconds, though, the angel is back. He brandishes a scrap of torn paper and reads, “ _When all is said and all is done, you must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough you will be playing with fire_.”

“Huh?” Crowley asks eloquently.

“When we were sitting on the bench, it was drifting, so I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket. I forgot about it since the bus was coming, and then with everything else it didn’t seem like such a problem.” He starts pacing back and forth slowly. “But I think it’s for us! It wouldn’t have landed in my hand if it was meant for someone else.”

If Crowley were human, he would scoff here. If he were any other demon, he’d scoff, too, just to make Aziraphale feel bad. But he isn’t human, and he isn’t any other demon, so he doesn’t. “Okay, if it’s for us, what does it mean?” Crowley asks, rather excited despite himself.

“Well, let’s start with ‘when all is said and all is done’. Anathema mentioned the prophecies got more numerous the closer to the Apocalypse we got. And this was the last.” He grins sheepishly and adds, “I wanted to see what the last one was, so I flipped through while I had my hands on the book.”

Crowley nods, smiling slightly. Nothing gets his angel excited like the promise of a rare book, especially one of prophecies. One might think that an angel wouldn’t need mortal prophecies, but they would be wrong. Aziraphale, for as long as Crowley has known him, has both hidden behind and tried to decipher and understand God’s Ineffable Plan. For some reason, certain mortals, like Agnes Nutter, have the ability to see past the veil or whatever mystical hooey mortals like to talk about. Crowley suspects Aziraphale has always been slightly jealous of such people, which is why he hoards their writings like a small angelic dragon.

“I think we can safely assume that ‘all is done’ refers to Armageddon. And that’s done. So we’re in the right time frame. We can assume that ‘faces’ means the you is plural, not singular, so I think it’s for both of us. Plus, who else can ‘choose their faces’? We can change our appearance as we like, we just tend not to,” Aziraphale continues.

Crowley blinks a little to refocus. “Masks?” he asks, falling into the time-honored tradition of devil’s advocate.

“Hmm, I suppose, but I rather think by ‘faces’ it means selves. A synecdoche, rather than a literal understanding.”

“All right, so we are to choose someone else to be?”

“‘For soon enough you will be playing with fire’…” Aziraphale taps the piece of paper against his chin. He stops suddenly to face Crowley. “Do you think it could mean _hell_ fire?” he asks, sounding horrified and a little terrified. Which is perfectly justified. Yes, Crowley had done all he could to convince Aziraphale to give him some holy water as insurance, but he isn't exactly normal. It isn't _normal_ to want to acquire some of the one substance in the entire multiverse that could end you permanently.

Crowley shrugs. “Could be. But why bother? Hell can’t use it on me, it wouldn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, but it would destroy me forever,” Aziraphale responds with a shiver.

“Only Hell can get their hands on that stuff. There’s no way you’d get sent to Hell for any reason, unless you Fell.” Crowley looks Aziraphale up and down. “And I can’t honestly see that happening any time soon.”

Aziraphale smiles slightly. “What if…” he trails off and blanches.

Crowley can feel his heart start to pound sympathetically. “What, angel?” he prompts.

Aziraphale starts to pace again, shaking his head slightly. “Heaven and Hell were going to work together to get Armageddon off the ground,” he starts. “Gabriel and Beelzebub were working _together_. We stopped them. Is it possible that they’ll work together to punish us?”

This time it’s Crowley who can feel the ground dropping out from under his feet. Which is ironic, since he’s still sprawled on the bed. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” Aziraphale agrees quietly. “We’re fucked.”

Crowley allows for a silent moment of contemplation before he hops to his feet. “Okay, so let’s think this through. We have to ‘choose our faces’, aka change who we appear to be. And if we think Heaven wants to chuck you in hellfire and Hell wants me doused in holy water…” He starts pacing. “We can’t change who we _are_ , just who we look like. I can’t unFall, and we are not going to make you Fall and screw up the rest of your life just to escape hellfire. Plus Gabriel and Michael would figure it out, and then you’d get doused in holy water, too.”

Suddenly Crowley smacks his hand to his head. “What if the trick isn’t to take _random_ faces, but to switch? If you go down to Hell as me, and I go up to Heaven as you?”

Aziraphale nods slowly, clearly turning the idea over in his head. “Then when Heaven thinks they’re burning me in hellfire, they’ll actually be burning you. And you’ll be fine.”

“And when Hell thinks they’re bathing me in holy water, they’ll be bathing you. And you’ll be fine,” Crowley adds. “How long do you think we have?”

“Not long,” Aziraphale says. “The card says ‘soon enough’ so my guess is within the next day or two.”

“Why don’t we switch now? Then we pretend to be each other until Heaven and Hell’s goons jump us, we convince each of them to leave us alone, and then we live happily ever after here on Earth. We can practice being each other until the goons show up.”

Aziraphale brightens. “Sure. Let’s do it.” He sticks out his hand and Crowley grasps it. Slowly, they change each of their appearances to match the other’s.

Soon Crowley is looking at himself, which is rather disconcerting. “All right then,” Crowley says. His voice sounds a little weird, and he realizes he, perhaps unconsciously, changed his vocal register as well. “I’ll go to the bookstore, and we can meet up for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Aziraphale adds, before awkwardly tacking on, “angel.”

Crowley smiles. “My dear, you’re getting the hang of it already!”

\---

Everything goes as planned, Aziraphale is almost sad to say. He had passed Crowley’s beloved Bentley on his way to meet the demon for lunch. _Adam did restore everything_ , he thinks happily. _I can’t wait to see my bookstore again_.

When he gets to lunch, he and Crowley buy ice cream from the little cart. They are just getting ready to eat it when they are kidnapped and dragged away.

As expected, Aziraphale is assumed to be Crowley and doused in a bath of holy water. He happily splishes some around. It gives him a perhaps unreasonable and not particularly angelic surge of happiness to see all the demons backing away from him.

 _At least I’ve sold it_ , he thinks. _They won’t come for Crowley now!_

When he gets back up to Earth, he meets up with Crowley once again. They switch back and Aziraphale can’t quite stop the silly smile at seeing his Crowley safe and unharmed. Together they eat at the Ritz. Aziraphale can’t wait for the rest of their lives together.

They are immortal, after all. They have until the end of time with each other.


End file.
